


A Moveable Feast

by Malu_3 (Grainne)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Arse Worship, Flirting, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Fixation, Oral Hygiene, Outdoor Sex, Promiscuity, Rimming, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:52:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2719406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grainne/pseuds/Malu_3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>No denying it, Merlin was a queer thing when it came to his mouth.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moveable Feast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psmithery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psmithery/gifts).



> Revised and expanded version of a commentfic originally written in 2011 for Mint & Honey's [Pfingerimmingfest](http://mintandhoney.livejournal.com/4671.html) in honor of the much beloved, much missed in Merlin fandom [Psmithery](http://archiveofourown.org/users/psmithery/pseuds/psmithery). Here's wishing you well, Dame Psmithery!
> 
> Set post-S3, but before Arthur becomes king. The original prompt is listed in the end notes (includes plot spoilers), and in case it needs mentioning, this has absolutely _nothing_ to do with Hemingway's memoir. ~~Sadly.~~

Arthur was yanked from sleep by someone tripping over his legs. He was crouched to spring, sword in hand, before his eyes and ears caught up with his instincts.

"Ouf! Sorry, sorry. Only me." Merlin held his hands up, pale palms glowing in the firelight. 

Arthur slumped back to the stony ground, heart racing. He glared up at Merlin, fully intending to give him an earful about what a wrong-footed, ham-fisted, sleep-disrupting _peasant_ he was.

Merlin's face seemed to be glowing as well, skin flushed and eyes bright. A slender twig protruded from one corner of his plump, grease-smeared lips. Arthur's insults died in his throat.

_At this time of night? Really? Can he not sleep for a bit of gristle between his teeth?_

"What're you doing down there anyway?" Merlin said, plucking the twig from his mouth and studying Arthur with tilted head. "You drew second watch."

"Switched with Leon," Arthur said, still glaring. "Which you would have bloody well _known_ if you'd been attending me, instead of snatching that bird off the spit and chasing after Gwaine."

"He went on watch direct from scouting all day," Merlin protested. "An empty belly may make for desperate hands, but I know for a fact it does naught to improve the wits."

"What? Wherever do you – never mind." Arthur set his sword within reach and hunched back into the warmth of his wool cloak, pulling it close round his chest. "I don't begrudge Gwaine his supper, Merlin. But I made him a knight, not you his squire. Do try to remember that."

Arthur didn't think Merlin's cheeks could get any redder, but he at least had the decency to lower his eyes. He mumbled something that Arthur chose to hear as, "Yes, sire." 

Merlin turned away and shuffled nearer the fire, once more working that damned twig between his lips, nibbling the end then poking it round between his teeth. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked too happy by half for a man who'd just received a scolding on top of hours spent out in this raw, wretched night.

_I've never seen a man look so smug whilst cleaning his teeth. Gwaine let him have the drumstick, I'll wager. Or he's been down to the horse camp, pricking Lancelot's heart with those big eyes and hollow cheeks and earning himself double portions of whatever Percy brained for their supper._

Most of the newer knights had a soft spot for Merlin. They were worse than mother hens, really, always clucking round him and slipping him choice morsels of food or swallows of wine. 

It wasn't that he'd rather they mistreat Merlin, only that… well, Merlin was _his_ responsibility. All the coddling implied that Arthur wasn't adequately seeing to all of Merlin's needs.

_Hmm. Probably best not to think about ALL of Merlin's needs at present._

Merlin paused in picking his teeth, eyes sliding towards Arthur. "So, you were just… erm, you just got back?"

"I just got back _to sleep,_ you oaf," Arthur said roughly, glad all evidence of his desire was well-hidden beneath layers of fabric, leather and mail. "You should be more careful walking around with sticks in your mouth, Merlin. Clumsy as you are, you're like to swallow one and puncture your gut." 

Merlin turned, frowning, but Arthur rushed on. "And what's the point of fussing over your teeth when you don’t bother keeping your face clean. You _do_ know you've still got grease all down your chin, don't you?"

"Oh, I – " Merlin's eyes widened. He wiped his face hastily on his sleeve and tossed the twig over his shoulder. "Um, yes. Apologies, sire. Didn't mean to wake you. I'll just… more wood, for the fire." He turned and scurried off, disappearing behind the outcropping of stone that shielded the fire from the worst of the damp spring winds.

Arthur lay down, wriggling until nothing overly hard or pointy was jammed into his vitals. He hoped sleep would return before Merlin came back to grumble over the fire or, worse yet, snug himself up alongside Arthur for warmth. It was always top to tail and often back to back, but nonetheless always torture.

Sleep would not come, no matter how Arthur chased it. He was left sifting through fragmented images of the day. One image in particular kept rising stubbornly to the top: a slender twig protruding from lips that glistened in the firelight.

Arthur groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, but the image remained.

No denying it, Merlin was a queer thing when it came to his mouth. 

He was forever sneaking mouthfuls of perfectly good wine to rinse with, sucking on sticky pellets of spice and honey, or gargling warm vinegar. Caught out in the woods, as they were tonight, he could often be found nibbling the frayed ends of hazel twigs or jawing away on some fresh green herb. And the damnedest thing of all was that he did these things _at all hours of day or night._

Arthur and other members of court usually attended to oral ablutions upon waking. Even then, most men rarely saw the need for more than a vigorous cloth scrub and a cold-water rinse, unless they had tooth-rot or were intent on wooing.

Arthur was fairly certain Merlin didn't suffer from tooth rot. His teeth were white and strong; Arthur had seen him crack nuts, bite through thread and sinew, and chew vicious strips off hunks of dried venison. And he couldn't possibly be wooing, could he?

_Not out here on Cegwyn's Tor, at any rate. Not unless he's keen on ghosts or wolves or bandits or… knights._

Arthur's eyes flew open. Bloody _Gwaine._

The next day, Arthur made certain Merlin was never left alone with Gwaine.

Merlin was cheerful as ever though, setting about all the tasks Arthur gave him with a minimum of eye rolling and no hint of the pinched muleface he wore when he truly disapproved of something Arthur had said or done. 

Arthur felt an enormous sense of relief – right up until the moment when Merlin returned from his water-fetching mission with a doe-eyed, grinning Elyan and a mouthful of wild parsley.

_Gwaine AND Elyan? What is he playing at? If he craves the attentions of men so badly, why doesn’t he come to me? I can't give him soft words or a sop-face, but he knows I'd see him well-satisfied._

Arthur _thought_ he'd made that plain enough after Merlin's little misunderstanding with a strapping innkeeper's son, that night in the Seven Barrels. But then they'd probably drunk the inn's namesake dry that night, so perhaps Merlin didn’t remember.

After he spat out the herb, Merlin wheedled a mouthful from Percy's wineskin. The great lump handed it over almost shyly as Arthur looked on, fuming.

_I wonder what he says to them. Or is sweet breath and a pair of sinful lips all that is required? No matter. It must stop._

That night, after the tents were set up, Arthur loudly claimed first watch on the main camp. Once Merlin was well away, he bade Leon switch with him again and set off to surprise his manservant. 

He was not, as expected, flirting with Gwaine and Elyan at the horse camp. 

Puzzled, Arthur circled back towards the main camp by way of the eastern watch fire, thinking to ask Percy if he'd seen him. 

As it turned out, there was no opportunity to ask Percy Merlin's whereabouts. Nor was there need. Arthur found Percy draped over a large treefall, breeches down around his ankles, and Merlin… Merlin's whereabouts were plain for all to see.

Merlin was hunched over behind Percy, his face buried in the knight's ample arse.

Arthur stumbled back against a tree, snapping twigs and smashing an elbow; cursing, he turned to run before he was discovered, but the pair seemed not to have heard. 

And no wonder. Percy was panting and grunting to rival a wild boar, and Merlin's ears were well-sandwiched between the knight's soaring arse cheeks and sturdy thighs.

Arthur dropped to all fours. Between the trees, the ground was thick with wet clumps of bracken. He belly-crawled through it, as close as he dared, then parted the damp, clinging fronds.

Initial shock past, Arthur began to notice the details of the obscene spectacle: Percy's knuckles white against the rough bark and the slight backthrust of his hips; the tension in Merlin's fingers where they splayed Percy wide; the undulations of his spine as he dove in and dove in and _dove in,_ working Percy's hole relentlessly, slobber and god-knew-what-else dripping down his chin onto the generous droop of dusky flesh suspended between Percy's thighs.

Percy's grunts soon turned to a keening sound that would have embarrassed Arthur had he not been the one squirming in the muck at the sound of it, and at the sight of Merlin's cock jutting out from his breeches.

Arthur had caught glimpses of it before, as Merlin relieved himself, but he'd never seen it like _this,_ thick and long and – as Merlin took himself in hand – straining against the confines of his fist. He slipped his other thumb inside Percy's arse, continuing to lap round it with his tongue.

Arthur couldn't see the details so well now, but he didn’t need to. The sheer rhythm of it was enough.

In and out went Merlin's thumb in Percy's arse. In and out went Merlin's cock in his own fist. In and out went Arthur's shallow thrusts into the sucking earth, and the even shallower breaths in his chest. Beyond shame, he fumbled with belt, mail, and laces until he had his own cock out, hot and damp and swollen.

He listened to Percy beg. He watched Percy's thighs tremble, then go completely limp as Merlin pulled his thumb away and surged forward, neck muscles straining.

When Merlin increased the pace of his hand on his cock, Arthur did too, until he was stripping it almost painfully.

He thought of that hazel twig, sliding in and out between Merlin's lips – of all the hazel twigs and all the herbs and all the rinses and what it must have meant – and came with a silent, angry shudder all over the cold ground.

Merlin pulled back – face a red, sloppy, exultant mess – and came too, spattering Percy's arse with thick pulses of creamy white fluid. He stood panting for a moment, eyes closed as he caught his breath and worked a kink out of his neck. Then he dropped to his knees and, like a hungry market cat, lapped up every drop.

*** * ***

It was a long, long while before Arthur's legs felt steady enough to bear him back to the main camp. He stalked past Leon and went straight to his tent. There, he struggled alone out of his soiled mail and breeches, leaving them in a heap for Merlin to find.

_Let the shameless varlet clean them with his tongue, if he's so eager to go sticking it in filthy places._

It was no good though. Try as he might, Arthur could not be disgusted by what he'd seen. As he kept watch, wrapped in his wool cloak, he turned the images over in his head, thinking back on Merlin's assured fingers, relentless tongue and joyful, spit slick face. Thought, too, of that flushed, weighty cock – gods, no wonder the man couldn’t keep his balance half the time. He'd probably only thought to use his tongue in the first place because he was worried about hurting someone, though it appeared he'd since developed a taste for it…

Arthur stabbed his dagger into a lump of cheese.

_This obsession of Merlin's is clearly a distraction. Just look at Percy. A score of bandits could have passed by that post and he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash._

Over the course of his watch, Arthur made a vicious mess of both bread and cheese, despite not eating a bite. The only conclusion he came to was that, for the good of the kingdom, Merlin would have to be stopped.

Or perhaps merely _redirected._

Arthur would simply have to explain to the idiot – while they were both sober, this time round – that while he would never _dream_ of taking advantage of a servant, he did take being Prince Regent very seriously. And if that meant sacrificing his backside (or any other part of his body) to Merlin's insatiable desires, then so be it.

By the time Lancelot turned up for his shift, Arthur had had plenty of time to imagine the many and various ways in which he might serve his kingdom as far as Merlin was concerned. In short, he was a flushed, fidgeting mess.

Lancelot, honorable man that he was, ignored Arthur's discomfort, instead blinking at all the crumbs littering the ground. 

"Not hungry, sire?"

Arthur gathered his cloak round him and stood, taking care to hold it well away from his body.

"It was stale," he said. "Thought I might as well make some bait for the snares."

"Ah, of course," Lancelot said, stifling a yawn. "Good thinking, sire. You go on and rest now. I'll sweep up." 

Arthur nodded and turned to go. Every step was torture – cock stiff, balls jouncing, and a persistent awareness of the way his arse cheeks rubbed against one another. He looked back over his shoulder, to where Lancelot was throwing more tinder on the fire.

"Oh, and, Lancelot? When Merlin returns, send him into my tent straight away, would you? I've something that needs urgent seeing to."

*** * ***

**Author's Note:**

> Psmithery's prompt was: _Merlin is fastidious about his oral hygiene. Arthur often sees him washing his mouth out/cleaning his teeth, even when they are out of the castle, but he can’t work out why, until he sees Merlin with his face buried in a knight’s arse._


End file.
